Fake marrying my new boss

Meeting his lawyer

*Will*

Kiera and I sit across from Christina in the hospital cafeteria, the smell of coffee and pastries wafting through the air, a stark contrast to the anxiety knotting my stomach. The place is buzzing with life; families, nurses, and doctors moving in and out, each lost in their own worlds. I appreciate the noise, the normalcy of it all, grounding me as I try to focus on the conversation at hand. I want it to be over, to be back in Frida's room when she returns from getting her leg cast put on.

Christina Strømberg has been my lawyer here in Denmark for over a decade, typically navigating the financial intricacies of my life… property deals, contracts, the business side of things. Family law, though? It feels like a whole new territory, one I never anticipated I’d have to traverse. My mind drifts back to Frida and I clench my fists on the table, willing myself to concentrate.

“Will,” Christina begins, her voice steady but laced with concern. “I’ve looked at similar cases, and I need to be completely honest with you. One significant issue we face is taking an injured child out of the country. The authorities might question if she’ll receive the medical and especially mental support she needs in America.”

I swallow hard, feeling frustration rise within me. “But I can provide her with the best care. I can afford it.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended, and I catch the eyes of a couple at the next table, their curiosity piqued. I feel embarrassed and quickly rein in my tone.

Christina nods, her expression sympathetic. “I know you can, but they will worry about more than just healthcare. They’ll be concerned about her Danish heritage and the education system there. They may argue that she will be better off staying in Denmark.”

Kiera takes a sip of her coffee, the steam curling around her face, and I can’t help but admire the way she seems to bring warmth into every space she occupies. She sets her cup down gently, her eyes focused on me with that fierce determination that has been my saving grace these past few weeks. “But he’s her closest relative. He loves her, and he can give her everything she needs,” she interjects, her voice steady and clear. “Frida adores him.”

I feel a swell of gratitude for her, for her unwavering support, especially when I’m drowning in the weight of my own doubts. Christina meets Kiera’s gaze, and I can see the flicker of respect in her eyes. “I agree with you, Kiera. Personally, I believe he will take excellent care of his niece,” she says, glancing back at me, “but I can’t guarantee we’ll win this case with what we have.”

The knot in my stomach tightens. “What do you mean?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady. “What do we need?”

Christina leans back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “We need proof that Frida will thrive in America, not just financially, but emotionally and socially as well. They might argue that the work schedule could mean she sees staff more than you.”

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I’ve been so focused on Frida that I’ve neglected to consider how my job might be scrutinized in this context. “I’ll make sure to take time off. I’ll bring her back to Denmark for holidays. I’ll speak Danish with her, so she doesn’t forget. I will do whatever it takes.” The passion in my voice surprises even me.

Christina nods, her demeanor softening a bit. “I believe you, and I’m sure you’ll do everything possible for her. But I won’t lie to you. The odds are not in our favor.”

Kiera leans forward, her brows furrowing in concern. “I’m sorry for speaking so frankly,” she says, her voice low, filled with empathy. “But I can’t see how this can even be questioned. Will is Frida’s closest relative. He wants to take her, and he can provide her with everything she needs. It just doesn’t make sense.”

I watch as Kiera’s passion ignites something within me, a flicker of hope against the overwhelming tide of uncertainty. I reach across the table, my hand brushing against hers, a silent promise that we’re in this together. Christina seems to sense the connection, nodding along as if she understands the unspoken bond we share.

“I’ll do what I can,” Christina finally concedes, her voice firm yet gentle. “I’ll gather more evidence, reach out to professionals who can vouch for your capabilities as a guardian. But you must understand, I can’t make promises that we will win.”

I nod, feeling the weight of the reality settle around me. “I understand. Thank you for your honesty.”

As we finish our coffee, my thoughts drift to Frida. I want nothing more than to be by her side, to comfort her as she adjusts to this new reality. I can barely remember the last time I slept well; my dreams are haunted by visions of cars and accidents, each one pulling me further into a darkness I’m desperate to escape. In the early hours of the morning, I’ve taken to sneaking out for runs, hoping that the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement will clear my mind. I am careful not to disturb Kiera, when I com and go.

However I can’t help but notice the soft sounds she makes in her sleep, and how she is all curled up like a fragile bird.

I’ve considered offering her the bed, but at my height of 6’2” the sofa is far too short for me. I wouldn’t sleep a wink. It fits her, and she says it is comfortable.

“Are you okay?” Kiera’s voice breaks through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. Her eyes are searching mine, concern etched into her features.

“I’m fine,” I lie, but the truth is I feel far from it. “Just… trying to focus.”

“Just remember you’re not alone in this,” she says, her voice steady and reassuring. “I’m here.”

I take a deep breath, the warmth of her presence enveloping me. “Thank you, Kiera. I really don’t know what I would do without you here.”

“No need to thank me,” She says, her cheeks going slightly pink. “Frida deserves it.”